Fear and Peace
by basicallynoodles
Summary: Spoilers-9x23.\"Risking a look to Sam wasn't the best idea Dean had ever had. The face of despair and shock that Dean saw when he looked to his little brother crushed him. Death was no longer calming, or comforting. It was crap your pants terrifying." / / "That was when the mark burned. A searing burn, that felt like his arm was being teared at, pulled at, set alight." [[TwoShot]]
1. Fear

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or it's characters.**

_**MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 9X23 AHEAD JUST A WARNING**_

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_Fear._

Once the blade had gone through Dean, he knew. He wasn't going to make it. Slowly looking down, the blade being twisted and pulled out, that _certainly_ confirmed it. An odd wave of calmness went through him. He was going to die. And maybe, just maybe, this time it'll be for real. He'll leave. The mark. The guilt. The stupidity. Everything. And you know what? Dean had fought until the final minutes, and that was good enough for him. But when Sam called out, the calmness went. In a flash. And that was it.

_He was going to die._

_And Sam was gonna be there. _

Risking a look to Sam wasn't the best idea Dean had ever had. The face of despair and shock that Dean saw when he looked to his little brother crushed him.

Death was no longer calming, or comforting.

It was crap your pants terrifying.

Not because Sam had lied and said he was gonna be okay with it. No.

Sam was gonna see him die.

Acceptingly on Dean's part.

He was going to leave Sam. Alone.

What if he made some dumb deal to make Dean come back?

He was going to leave everything.

Suddenly, leaving it all, it felt like the worst outcome.

Plus, Metatron wasn't dead. He was God knows where, which, considering Metatron was trying so hard to be God, was actually quite fitting. That left **_all kinds of possibilities._**

Then Dean hit the floor.

_Oh no._

It took all his energy to drag his eyelids up to see Metatron's smug little face.

_Stupid little smug bastard._

Sam's heavy running footsteps were getting closer, and Dean felt him pull him up.

_No._

Dean could feel himself slipping. He didn't even have enough energy to crack a joke to Sam about Metatron poofing out, away from him. Even it wasn't the time. When Sam tried to help him, the fear got even worse. And Dean thought that wasn't possible.

_Sammy, go. Please. Nothing you do is gonna help me. Metatron is gonna come back, and kill you too. Just go. While you can. Please. _

Dean tried to voice his thoughts but it just came out as "Sammy, you gotta get out of here before he comes back." Dean tried even harder to voice how urgent he felt it was.

_Go. Just leave me. I'm okay with this. Alright? The mark, it's turning me into a monster. I'm only gonna get worse if you manage, by some miracle, to get me outta this. I'm gonna leave, before everything gets too bad. It'll suck, but I know you can get through this. Please Sammy, for me._

But of course, Sam wasn't having any of that, and pulled Dean up. Dean spewed out about Sam saying he was okay, resulting in Sam admitting he had lied. Dean managed to joke in that situation.

_Better can while he **can****. **When he's- No. Hold __on, Dean. Come on. For Sammy. He's not gonna see you die. Again._

That was the moment he felt it. The other whelming cold. The pull. The call. The calmness. Everything was numb.

_This was it._

"Sam, I gotta say something."

When Dean was leant up the table, or what he thought was a table, and was greeted with Sam's anxious face, and a whispered "What?", was when he accepted it. The call. The calmness.

"I'm proud of us."

And that was it. Peace.

All Dean ever wanted.

No more calls of the blade, wanting him to kill.

No more disappointment.

No more guilt.

No more stupidity.

Nothing.

Nothing but peace.

That was all Dean ever needed.

He didn't care where he was. He didn't care that something was off.

Dean was at peace.

And he loved it.

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**Reviews would be fantastic. ^_^~**


	2. Peace

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or it's characters.**

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_Peace._

It was something Dean had never thought about, and was something Dean never wanted to end.

Walking across the white and vast plain, every feeling of heartache, of hurt, of guilt fading away, being replaced with nothing but calmness and peace. That was Dean's idea of heaven. Every terrible thought he'd had, every horrible memory, being erased as he walked, put a smile on Dean's face. Even if it was a small one.

Maybe that was why he brushed the feeling something was wrong off.

Or maybe he brushed it off because he didn't want it to end.

Or maybe it was the completely and utterly _amazing _feeling of knowing that nothing mattered anymore.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't brush off the thought. The one thought that made him shudder.

_This can't be heaven. _

_For one, he wasn't deserving of it._

_And two, it was locked off._

_Unless-_

**_"...But, as rumour has it, the mark never quite let go."_**

Crowleys voice echoed through the white plain, cracking all the walls around Dean. Everything crumbled around him, turning white to black. Dean sighed. This was it. Sam had made some dumb deal.

_Note to self: Kick Sam's ass when he's awake._

That was when the mark burned. A searing burn, that felt like his arm was being teared at, pulled at, set a light. Grasping his arm, so tight, that if he were alive, a bruise would form almost instantly, Dean cried out.

_Let me go. Please! I don't want to kill!_

The burning got worse, and spread across his whole body.

_Please._

He whimpered, falling to the ground, head looking down to his knees. The burning didn't cease, and Dean grasped it tighter.

_I'll die! Please, let me go. I'll even go to hell. Just... _

_**"Listen to me Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now, it isn't death. It's life. A new kind of life."**_

Dean creased his eyelids together, bringing his head to his burning arm, tears falling on the mark. Willing it all to go. Crowley's voice. The burning. The mark.

_**"Open your eyes, Dean."**_

Then it was gone.

Like that.

The burning, the pain. Hell, even the _tears _were gone.

**_"See what I see."_**

Dean straightened and stood.

**_"Feel what I feel."_**

A smirk plastered on his face, so evil it would make even The King of Hell shudder.

**_"Let's go take a howl at that_ moon."**

Dean was at peace again.

But this time it was a different type.

An acceptance type of peace.

The acceptance of _him. _

Being a monster, a killer.

Dean laughed, a manic laugh, and fell gracefully backwards, eyes closing. But before he hit the ground, his eyes flicked open, and he was greeted by the ceiling of his bedroom in the bunker.

He was still at peace.

But this time, he had an added emotion. An emotion of killing.

_And he loved it._

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